


Dream a Little, Dream of Me

by snowqies



Category: Broadway RPF, Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked RPF
Genre: Angst, F/F, POV Second Person, Romance, chenzel, kristin's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 18:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowqies/pseuds/snowqies
Summary: It was hard, crazy and hurtful, a back and forth that didn't seem to have an end. But somehow was also lovely and perfect, and at this point Kristin didn't know which one was causing her immense pain.





	Dream a Little, Dream of Me

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing chenzel, hope you all like it. English isn't my first language so sorry if there's any grammatical mistakes, I'm working on that :) also kinda inspired by Dancing With Our Hands Tied by Taylor Swift.

_I loved you in spite of_  
_deep fears that the world would divide us_

________________

It was hard. For God’s sake, it was fucking hard. But was also dangerous, risky and somehow lovely and perfect at the same time.  
  
Was crazy, your hand sliding down the table to grab her thigh firmly. But it was a good kind of crazy, especially when she would force you into an empty room to make out like if you both were horny teenagers full of love and false illusions.  
  
Her brown hair would be a tangled mess in which your hand would press tightly to encourage her to keep doing whatever she does _that_ good with her tongue and fingers, making you came with the same intensity that she has in her voice while singing. She’d touch you like if she were playing Bach on the piano and you’d came into her hand and mouth over and over until the name of God was used enough times in such a profane way. Her name would come out of your lips too, alternating between _slower_ and _harder_ and _Dee_ and _fuck_ and _we gotta get out of here before someone finds us_.  
  
At the same time it was easy, very easy, when the morning light would bath your naked body sleeping next to her. The bed sheets smelling like lavender soap and sex, and the sunrise offering you both a majestic view of the ocean at the other side of the shore. You’d make breakfast for her and she’d grab your waist as you pour the pancake mix over the heated pan, kissing up your neck to murmure an infinity of phrases of different natures in you ear. Romantic, sexual, funny; you have had begun to think that she has a whole catalogue made for you in her mind.  
  
Was sad when you had to see her leave the small safety of your apartment to come back to the hands of the man that surely didn’t appreciate her. And you’d spend the rest of the day holding onto her pillow until her characteristic smell would be replaced with your own sweat and tears and the memory of something to hold disappeared like the sun who would eventually hide to give space to the moon.  
  
And after some painful hours you’d be driving into your own house too after have been found some man to kiss and make love, knowing that if you give him the opportunity he would appreciates you and give you the real place you surely deserved. And any trace of her would be covered by his kisses and caresses and you’d feel dizzy and sick and shameful about yourself until the tiredness would take possession over all your body and the constant pain numbs all your coherent thoughts.  
  
It would be daring. You’d kiss her in the brief moments the lights would went out, feeling how her hot breath hits softly your own lips just to separate as quick as you both kissed. Even more quicker. Finding your own way in the other side of the room and praying God that no one saw the improper act that just happened in the dark.  
  
There would come some point in which you both wouldn’t pay attention to the strangers and shamelessly flirt right there in front of their curious eyes. It wouldn’t be subtle but filled with pure lust, and you’d ask yourself a ton of times how in the hell you get into this chaotic pantomime.

  
It would also kill you, drive you insane with theories and conspiracies and self loathing towards yourself for ruin not one but two marriages and be the face of hollywood adultery and the perfect description of a nymphomaniac for her. Only for her.  
  
But despite that you would love her until the stars fell of the darkened sky and the oceans got dry, and you could bet all your money that she would do the same and most important, after that exchange of lovely words and promises you’d be also even more sure of the pitiful realization that you both were totally cowards to be in a relationship that didn’t involve cheating and secrets and meetings in empty coffees and dark rooms.  
  
It was and would be all those things, and you didn’t know what anticipate next or guess her next movement. But when she simply puts her hand in your jean’s pocket to pull you closer all the fears are replaced with calm, waiting in the back of your mind to take control later again.  
  
And that apparent innocent act is more than enough to make you keep going with the mess you both started, holding onto her like if your life depends of it.  
  
_Yeah_.  
  
You stare into hazelish eyes and feel how warm tears are sliding down your face. She doesn’t bother to dry them, not in a room full of people.  
  
_At least it could be enough_.


End file.
